


Episode 3 - Retaliation

by Alabama_brown



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 02:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alabama_brown/pseuds/Alabama_brown
Summary: Robert California has his revenge





	Episode 3 - Retaliation

**Author's Note:**

> This work combines comedy (see Robert's speech) and eroticism. It follows on from my 2 previous works.

EPISODE 3 – RETALIATION

“Do you ever think about penises?” asks the familiar deep voice.

I press my mobile to my ear and contemplate the café latte in front of me, not actually seeing it. It is late Saturday morning and I am indulging in one of my favourite pastimes of sitting at Le Pain Quotidien while I people-watch over coffee and a pastry.

“What?”

“Penises” he repeats. “Do you ever think about them?”

“Er… not as an abstract concept, no. It’s usually in a particular context. What…”

“And I suppose the context is sexual intercourse, am I right?” He sounds amused.

“Robert, are you teasing me?”

“I only tease in person. Rather like you, I believe.” 

So he is going to remind me of our last meeting several months ago when I walked out on him part way through giving him what I considered to have been an exceptional blow job. I assumed he would be intrigued by and extremely attracted to a girl who could leave him at such an intimate moment, but instead he vanished from my life after an email thanking me for enabling him to achieve an earth-shattering orgasm after I had left his apartment and suggesting he was planning a comparable retaliation. I had missed him so badly since then that all I could do was throw myself into my work during the week days, drink too much at night and spend the weekends amongst crowds. It had been a nightmare.

“Where have you been all this time?” Damn, that sounds too needy.

“I’ve been on an executive retreat” he says cheerfully. “A visit to Saudi Arabia. A very strange and informative trip to Turkey. Have you ever heard of Melissophilia?”

“No and I don’t want to know” I mutter sulkily.

“Ah well, you’ll probably never come across it anyway. Does it not AMAZE you what human beings are capable of?”

“Robert… did you ring me just to talk about penises and Melissa something or other? And you know I now have to ask what it is.”

A throaty chortle that evokes an unexpected tingle between my legs. “Bee love.”

“Be what?”

“No, bee love. Love of bees.”

“I’m missing something here. What’s wrong with liking honey bees?”

“Oh it’s not the honey that Melissophilia refers to. Did you know that some people actually welcome being stung on their genitals - it heightens their sexual response.”

This leaves me totally speechless. Once again I am reminded that Robert California is a very strange man. Talking or being with him is like falling down a rabbit hole where anything and everything is possible. During one evening with my outrageously gay hairdresser Pete where I drank too much and sobbed over Robert’s absence, Pete had gushed “My sweet, he sounds like a narcissistic sociopath with questionable sexual appetites. Is he a keeper? Of course not! Just make use of him whenever you get the opportunity – you’ll learn a lot, believe me!”

“You’re just envious” I wailed.

“You bet your highlights I am!”

But here is Central Park suddenly illuminated with sunshine, everyone appears dazzling and happy and I feel like I could burst with happiness. Oh dear… the power Robert has over me is both miraculous and terrifying. I know next to nothing about him, I seem to be a mere dalliance for him – and yet I would crawl over broken glass to be with him.

He changes the subject abruptly. “Where are you?” From the sound of a police siren behind him and an automated pedestrian crossing shouting “WAIT! WAIT!”, I guess he’s in town somewhere.

“I’m having a coffee at Le Pain Quotidien.”

“I thought you might like to accompany me to a CEO convention dinner on Tuesday night. It promises to be unbearably tedious but I have to attend as a special guest and there are ways to combat their predictable conservatism.”

With rising panic, I gabble “My god Robert - what would I wear? What am I expected to do? Who ARE these people? I can’t..”

“And here I thought you had an adventurous spirit! You’re overthinking again. I seem to recall you doing that - standing in front of me like a well fed waif wearing next to nothing and analysing everything down to its bare bones. There is nothing so liberating as diving headfirst into a situation without knowing the slightest thing about it. I do it all the time.”

I shift on my chair, acutely aware of how much he arouses me. His voice is so incredibly seductive…

“Answers – wear something accessible. Look like you know something important that they don’t. Most of them are frustrated, time impoverished, middle aged senior executives who are determined to climb what remains of the corporate ladder and tread on those below them in the process.”

“That sounds awful!”

“More awful than you could possibly imagine” he agrees cheerfully. “Text me your address and I’ll have my driver pick you up at 7.” And he is gone.

His driver? What happened to his love of travelling in taxis? This is yet another game for Robert to play.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wear something accessible. What the hell was that?? Accessible to whom? Him? It’s the only answer I can come up with, unless he wants one or some of the attendees at the dinner to be able to access me. Of course not! What a simply ghastly notion… but this is Robert California and his world is decidedly peculiar.

By 6pm Tuesday, my mood is swinging so wildly between paranoia and exhilaration that it’s as though I’ve had 6 or 7 coffees as I pace around my apartment, tidying up, dragging clothes out of the wardrobe and hanging them up again, opening and closing cupboard doors and generally obsessing over nothing. How will I be introduced? Am I expected to converse knowledgeably about… whatever it is they talk about? Why is he bringing me instead of someone within the industry? Is this Robert’s idea of retaliation – to see me make an idiot of myself at a corporate dinner? Could he be that cruel?

And worst of all in spite of all this idiocy – I want him. Frantically. Preferably instead of going to some fancy dinner.

I settle on a mid-thigh length electric blue chiffon dress with an empire line emphasised by a wide dark blue band, accessorised with slutty red heels that are uncomfortable as hell but make my legs look fabulous. The skirt floats airily as I walk and I consider it tastefully left wing for what is probably going to be an extremely conservative occasion. No underwear - I’ll give him “accessible”!

As the buzzer rings, I grab my clutch bag and head downstairs. A Mercedes-Benz S, glowing ruby-black under the street light, idles at the kerb, the driver standing beside the rear door. He opens it and I climb in, taking pleasure in the feel of fine leather seats. The door is closed softly behind me and the driver resumes his position in the front seat. He steers the car smoothly out into the traffic, its engine completely soundless.

“Good evening!” greets Robert as he turns towards me. I stare at him, taking in the expensive beautifully tailored dark suit, black shirt and dark green tie. “Do you know this is the second time I’ve worn a tie in the last 4 months and I’m regretting it more than…”  
I can’t stand it a minute longer. I slide across to the edge of the central console, fling my arms around his neck and pull his head towards me. With no hesitation he cups my face as I sigh “Robert...” but he holds me firmly away from him, scrutinising me objectively from behind his gold framed glasses. He nods once as though in agreement with himself and says conversationally “That ache remains, doesn’t it. An itch to be scratched. A small part of you demanding attention.”

He draws away and declares “Seat belt”. Is there laughter in his voice? This isn’t funny. I return to my side of the back seat resentfully, fasten the seat belt buckle and… 

his hand slides over my leg and under the edge of my dress. I look across and see his beautiful mouth curve in a slight smile, his glasses catching the lights of the shops outside. His fingers move up the inside of my thigh and graze oh so lightly across my pussy (I am unable to suppress my embarrassing whimper as he murmurs “I know that will taste as delightful as it feels”) before travelling down the inside of my other thigh and coming to rest on my knee. His hand remains there for a moment and then moves back up my leg - again the light skim between my thighs and down to my knee. And once more. I desperately want him between my legs (all this throbbing and aching is excruciating) so I grasp his fingers…

He mutters “Nearly there. We’ll pick this up later” and takes his hand away.

As Winston Churchill once said about Russia “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” It describes Robert California perfectly.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The event is held at Penthouse 45, a private corporate venue whose floor to ceiling windows offer spectacular 360 degree views of the city skyline and the Hudson River. The Brazilian walnut hardwood floors gleam russet and dark gold, and 15 circular tables, each holding 10 guests, are draped with pale golden damask tablecloths and set with white linen napkins and cream dinnerwear with gold trim. Menus printed on stiff cream card are at each place, and centrepieces of bright yellow roses in vases lined with geometrical patterns of sliced oranges complete the finishing touches to a lavish ambiance.

At the front of the room is a small raised platform with a lectern, and over by the remarkable windows a larger dais contains an 8 piece jazz band next to a space obviously allocated for dancing.

A waiter appears as soon as we are seated, bowing slightly and asking us what we would like to drink. He adds “A whisky, Mr California?”

“An excellent memory, Edgar!” says Robert approvingly. “I believe one should anaesthetise oneself as early as possible at these kinds of events.”

“And you, madam?”

“A cocktail, I think – a Sidecar?”

“Very good.”

Our drinks are served surprisingly quickly. Robert sips his Glenmorangie, leans back in his chair and surveys the room.

“There are representatives here from Morgan Stanley, NewsCred, Pfizer and JP MorganChase at the very least” he comments. “Oh and there’s that charming woman from Members Exchange. A distinguished group indeed. I wonder how many tickets to the Yankee Stadium have been promised to lure them to attend this function.”

For the next half hour or so, a number of individuals stop to greet Robert and politely acknowledge me when I am introduced. At one stage he rises to acknowledge a blonde woman (exquisitely dressed in a pink and white silk Balenciaga cocktail gown with chunky silver shoes by Miu Miu), who kisses him on the cheek (a bit too familiar, I grump to myself) and coos “Robert! Why didn’t you let me know you were back in town? There’s a production of Hillary and Clinton that needs to be seen.”

“Are free cigars handed out to the audience?” I ask.

The blonde glares at me while Robert bursts out laughing with childish delight. “Amanda, I think we’ve seen more than enough of Hillary and Clinton in our lives” he chortles. “With or without cigars.”

Another woman, tall and regal in a basic black Cady crepe mini dress with a line of tiny champagne pearls at the neck, floats towards us from nowhere, exclaiming “Amanda! Look at you – husband number 3 is working miracles on you!”, air-kisses her and somehow manages to edge her way between the poor unfortunate Amanda and Robert, who is now looking slightly nonplussed. As Amanda flounces off towards one of the tables, a large florid man wearing a rather vulgar shiny suit strides over towards us, grabs Robert by the hand and shakes it vigorously. “Bobby my boy! God but am I glad to see you! Dunder Mifflin’s loss, our gain.” And taking the black crepe mini dressed woman by the arm (which she doesn’t seem to appreciate), he steers her away to a table already filling up with various guests.

Robert resumes his seat and leans over to say quietly to me “Worldwide Rail and Shipping Group major stakeholder. His wife is one of the corporate lawyers for a private jet leasing company. Sexually frustrated beyond belief but she believes she works best that way.”

“How on earth do you know that? Or should I even ask?”

He shrugs. “After a few drinks, she will positively overwhelm you with unwanted personal information. I could NEVER function that way! If I even slightly suspected myself of being sexually frustrated, I would deal with it immediately.”

“How nice for you” I say sarcastically. “And do you always have someone available to help you with that?”

Robert regards me intensely, tilts his head and says casually “We will dance later.”

“Why?”

But suddenly the Master of Ceremonies is standing behind the lectern and the room falls quiet. 

“It gives me great pleasure to welcome you tonight to the inaugural dinner of the 2019 official CEO and Industry Expert Convention. This occasion enables us to connect with each other and share ideas, resources and opportunities that help us scale our businesses through strategic points of inflection and collaborate as a community to change the world.

“Over the next few days we will address and brainstorm Strategic Planning, Talent Management, Executive Onboarding and Growth Markets, but tonight we will eat, drink, dance and be merry!” (obligatory laughter)

“Before we indulge in a range of exceptional culinary delights, I would like to introduce you to our special guest, the high profile CEO of the Worldwide Rail and Shipping Group, Robert California.” (outbreak of genuinely animated applause)

“Many of you are familiar with his exemplary performance at Earthworks, Dunder Mifflin and, more recently, mentoring the European Womens’ Gymnastic Team.

“He has graciously consented to undertake the appointment with WRSG for a period of 5 years, during which time he will undoubtedly bring the company to the level of profitability and success that typifies what we call in the industry “the California touch”.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to present… Robert California.”

Robert rises from his chair, squeezes the MC’s shoulder and moves to stand at the lectern, waiting patiently for the applause to die down. 

“Thank you. Let me tell you what I told the Dunder Mifflin staff when I commenced there about some things I find productive - positive reinforcement. Negative reinforcement. Honesty. Integrity.

“Truth is very freeing – it has no politics and no taboo subjects. If someone wishes to approach me to discuss their sexual arousal every time they lean against the photocopier whilst using it, I believe they should speak candidly and thoroughly about this.

“I believe in integrity – that means we tell the truth as we see it. My staff always expects me to tell the truth and are consistently disappointed but reassured by my response.

“The California touch is actually not a touch at all. It is a suggestion, an intimation, an idea. Others take that idea and develop it. They do the work. CEOs don’t do anything – they take the credit but if it wasn’t for everyone else, they’d be out of a job.

“Employees are sick of pep talks that say nothing and do nothing but leave them guessing both about the state of the company and their Chief Executive. It is better NEVER to engage in pep talks or inspiring communication with your staff so as to avoid disillusionment for everyone - far better to indulge in platitudes and generalities which staff can relate to. You must remember that everyone not only wants to hear what you have to say, but they need it, even though they may never realise it.

“I cannot emphasise too greatly the importance of how much time you should spend thinking about what’s in it for you. This is a vital component of your daily activity.

“I consider myself extremely fortunate to be amongst people such as yourselves who know how the system works and yet are prepared to perpetuate it. Let us carry on motivating and debasing others as they strive to reach the heights we have achieved.”

As one, the audience is on its feet applauding wildly. Robert nods his head modestly, returns to his seat and beams at me. “That was fun, wasn’t it! Now let’s enjoy the food. I rather fancy the citrus tuna tartar but I trust they used white asparagus and not green. Would you like a glass of white?”

I nod, speechless. He has effectively ridiculed a roomful of senior executives and no one is any the wiser. Worse – they probably believed every word he had said.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner is outstanding but everything seems surreal – the immaculately groomed women, their jewellery and sophistication, the loud voices of the men and the nature of their conversations. I choose to study everything whilst saying very little, uncertain of the way this world operates. Robert, however, is completely at ease, engaging in discussions ranging from the frustration of playing golf and squash to the shame incurred at office Christmas parties and whether holidays are more enjoyable at Marion or The Hamptons.

Several couples shift to the dance floor and noticing this, Robert asks “Shall we?”

“I don’t dance” I tell him. “Look how well those people move – they can dance without making fools of themselves.”

“You’re overthinking again. Come.” He leads me onto the dance floor as the band begins to play Ain’t Misbehavin’, takes me in his arms and reveals yet another aspect of his character that has me dumbfounded – this man moves with an instinctive grace. I am not a natural dancer but with Robert leading, the song speaks through him and he floats me on it, guiding me effortlessly.

However, there’s a major distraction - with my heels, he and I are the same height which means his crotch is level with mine. I can feel his penis against me all too clearly (he isn’t wearing underwear. He also hadn’t worn any the couple of times he and I had been together before. Maybe he never wears underwear - one more desirable quality!) and combined with my lack of underwear, his erection is unmistakeable, substantial and overwhelmingly erotic.

As the band segues into Blues In the Night, Robert spreads his hands against the small of my back and presses me close as we dance slowly. The thought that we could actually fuck if it weren’t for a whisper of chiffon and some fine wool cloth makes me shiver. I glance around nervously, convinced that people must be aware what is going on, but no one is showing any interest in us. Fuelled by alcohol and duty, more and more couples have arrived on the dance floor, some of them standing around in groups having discussions.

“No one will have the slightest idea when you have an orgasm” Robert purrs in my ear. “Unless you make a lot of noise, of course… which I have to admit I find rather appealing.”

“You can’t possibly…”

“Not negotiable” he says firmly. “Retaliation can take many shapes. The delicious challenge here is how you will deal with coming in a public place whilst everyone is blissfully unaware. You wanted to play objective – let’s see how well you play it under these circumstances.”

His hand purposely slides under my dress, between my legs and he cups my vagina with his palm. The grunt of appreciation deep in his throat sends a wave of heat straight to my core.  
My hands are against his chest, feeling the warmth through his shirt. His left arm is casually draped over my shoulder but his right is pinned between us. The poignant strains of Round About Midnight form a dreamlike background to the sensation of him caressing my cunt lips, prising them open (“How wet you are” he mutters. “It’s almost humbling”), sliding a finger between my labia and stroking... stroking… while we continue to dance. I can feel my knees start to shake as he finds my clit and begins to toy with it, circling, lightly brushing, all the while glancing down at me with a mischievous smile touching his lips.

“Great speech, Robert!” exclaims the Master of Ceremonies, he and his partner drawing alongside us. “Words of wisdom for some heavy hitters.”

“It’s a decidedly lively night” Robert concurs, two fingers skilfully sliding into me and expertly curling to find my g-spot. 

I am so hot and aroused! My cunt is swollen and I think he must keep fingering me or I will die. I think he must STOP fingering me or I will die. I want everyone to go away and let me scream and moan and thrust and…

My intake of breath is audible to the point that the MC’s partner gives me a concerned look. “Are you all right?” she asks.

“… yes!” I manage to gulp. “…just not used to dancing so… vigorously.”

“Well, must circulate!” the MC says cheerily and as he and his partner drift away, I hear her say “That woman must be very unfit.”

I barely register Robert’s breathy chuckle. He is building up a rhythm, his fingers moving faster. The room, the music, the people – all gone. It is as much as I can do to focus on the sensation of my muscles tightening, spontaneous quivers in my legs…  
His voice is so soft it is almost subliminal. “Don’t close your eyes. I want you to see exactly where you are. Can you imagine the shame, the humiliation, the absolute disgrace if you get caught right now? Have you already been noticed? That’s it… I want to feel that tight cunt of yours squeeze my fingers… there you go…”

The effort of suppressing my need to groan, to gasp, to respond to Robert’s skilled attention, to keep my face impassive, heightens my senses to a level I have never experienced before. The rising tension is almost painful – I’m going to explode! I do - my orgasm crashes through me, honey-sweet waves spreading out like ripples on a pond – my hips bucking against Robert and I gasp . I cry out again a moment later as he drags his thumb across my clit creating a resonant pulse, withdrawing his hand at the very moment as the music ends.

“Are you OK?” asks Amanda who has materialised next to us, husband No. 3 in tow.

Still distracted by the last receding tremors, I stare blankly at her.

“She’s overcome by the entire evening” informs Robert, his eyes shining playfully. “A unique experience, wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”

I dip my head weakly. “Unforgettable.”

Amanda scowls at me. “Obviously some people are impressed by the absolute minimum” she scoffs, shooting Robert a contemptuous glance as she leaves.

“She wants you” I observe, instantly jealous.

“I believe she wants everyone in an attempt to reassure herself that she exists within the correct social order. It’s a wonder she doesn’t take up charity work” he says thoughtfully and tilts his head to watch Amanda walk away. “Now… we should go back to your apartment. I feel the need to have you properly… without an audience.” He breaks into one of his luminous smiles and nods. “And under no circumstances will there be any walking out this time, no matter how rough the ride becomes.”


End file.
